


A thing that can ignite

by IceCream_Junkie, Killermanatee



Series: Then there's a pair of us! [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: AU for the win!, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dating, F/M, Falling In Love, Masturbation, Pining, Slow Burn, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCream_Junkie/pseuds/IceCream_Junkie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/pseuds/Killermanatee
Summary: Sometimes working part-time at theGalaxy Caféon top of getting my PhD is almost too much. But it also has its perks; for example when stunningly handsome men stop by for coffee and end up sticking around.





	1. Chance Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> _You cannot put a Fire out—_   
>  _A Thing that can ignite_   
>  _Can go, itself, without a Fan—_   
>  _Upon the slowest Night—_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _You cannot fold a Flood—_  
>  _And put it in a Drawer—_  
>  _Because the Winds would find it out—_  
>  _And tell your Cedar Floor—_  
>   
>  \- Emily Dickinson  
> 

* * *

 

Entering _The Galaxy Café_ just in time for the start of my shift, I inhale deeply, letting the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm muffins wash over me.

“Morning!” I greet my colleagues cheerfully. “How are you feeling on this very fine Sunday, Keyla?”

My fellow redhead throws me a look that is anything but friendly, and I snicker.

It’s Owo who responds. “I think she’s definitely regretting that last round of Tequila.”

What are friends for if not to poke fun at you while you suffer some self-induced misery? At some point, having known each other since freshman year pays off.

I hurry into the back room to drop off my bag and grab my apron. The best thing about this little independent campus sanctuary, at least for a sci-fi nerd like me, is the black apron with the logo of an astronaut in a space suit holding a coffee mug. I am also pretty fond of our slogan ‘ _Discover the best coffee in the galaxy’,_ that never fails to make me grin in all its cheesiness. Saru Kaminar, who owns the place, certainly made the best of his space obsession. I tie the strings around my waist as I walk back to the counter.

We prepare for the typical weekend lunch rush, talking about the previous night.

“Pretty sure Owo over there is holding out on us,” Keyla says, and it seems the double-espresso she downed has fought off most of her hangover.

I look at our party-loving friend, who is pretending to be busy refilling the coffee grinder.

“Spill the beans.” Can’t let a good pun go to waste.

She rolls her eyes and insists there’s nothing to tell.

Keyla and I look at each other and it’s clear that she doesn’t believe Owo either, but before we can grill her on where or with whom she has spent the night, the doorbell chimes, the arrival of our first customer saving her.

We are busy serving drinks alongside bagels and muffins for the next hour or so. Sunday gets mad once the students, who have either partied or studied too long, show up.

I hand one customer her change and move on to the next just to find myself looking into an amazing pair of blue eyes. The fine lines around them and the graying hair indicate that he’s at least fifteen or twenty years older than me, but that doesn’t stop me from noticing that he’s stunningly handsome. As in _I-don’t-think-he’s-real_ handsome. He's a few inches taller than me, wearing a dark button-up that shows off his athletic build and tanned skin.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” I’m glad the words have been drilled into me, because I’m not sure I would have managed to get them out otherwise.

“One Americano, please,” he orders with a voice I’d gladly listen to even if he read the phonebook.

“For here or to go?” I enquire.

“For here.”

I relay the order to Owo, secretly pleased that Mr. Blue Eyes will stick around for a while.

“That’s two ninety-five, please.” I smile at him as I take the money and hand him his change. No wedding band, I notice.

I serve a few more customers, while sneakily glancing over to the table in the far corner by the window where _he_ is sitting. Finally things slow down a little.

“God, he’s so hot.” I tilt my head towards the general direction of the table he occupies, to indicate whom I’m talking about.

“What, him? The old dude?”

At her disbelief, I shoot Keyla a shocked look over the blender. “That seriously can’t be your only reaction to someone who looks like he should be a model.”

“A model for what exactly?” Owo chimes in. “Retirement funds?”

“Seriously. You guys are insane.” I shake the blender more vigorously than strictly necessary. “He’s like fine wine, only getting better with age. Someone like that knows exactly how to treat a woman.” I ignore Keyla’s odd expression, getting a little carried away in my fantasies.

“Maybe he can’t go all night anymore, but he wouldn’t have to. Think of all that experience, all the other ways he could get you off.” Owo’s eyes are wide but I keep going.

“Oh don’t look so shocked, you know exactly how much fun a creative guy can be in the sack. I am sure a silver fox like that knows all kinds of tricks we have never even thought of. He wouldn’t need to be rock-hard all night to - Ouch!”

Owo kicked me in the shin. Hard. I’m about to complain to her, but she nods her head rather animatedly and I have a terrible feeling.

I turn around slowly. And yep. Of course. Who else would be standing right behind me, getting a cup of water from the dispenser next to the counter? I am pretty sure at least seventy percent of my blood has gone straight to my face as I try my best to smile at the topic of our very inappropriate conversation.

For a second I try to convince myself that he doesn’t know I was talking about him, but considering that the only other customers still around are a group of students and a young mother with her kid, it’s pretty obvious.

He shoots me a completely disarming smile, and - I swear to God - winks at me before he takes his glass of water back to his seat by the window.

Yep, he knows. Well. Fuck. Me.

I very, very slowly turn back around to find Owo and Keyla obviously at the brink of combustion.

“Just… don’t,” is all I can say before I bury my face in my hands.

“Nope,” Keyla snorts, “we don’t have to say anything.”

Knowing my friends, I’m not going to live this down anytime soon, but at least they are content to quietly enjoy my misery for now. Small mercies, considering that both of them have already been the target of some mockery today. Karma is a bitch.

I get busy making a fresh cup of coffee. Better start on damage control while I still can.

“What are you doing?” Keyla is clonking away unloading the dishes.

“Hopefully I’m making a decent cup of apology-coffee…”

For good measure, I add three cookies to the saucer instead of one and make my way over to the object of my embarrassment.

He’s leaning with one arm on the windowsill, studying a tablet in his hands with a creased brow. The spoon clinks against the cup in my hand and he looks up with a curious expression. God damn, he’s gorgeous. He looks like he should be on TV, selling Nespresso or whatever stunningly handsome men like him do. I take a deep breath.

“I am really sorry, I mean, just _so_ very sorry, that conversation was completely inappropriate and unprofessional, which I suppose makes sense what with me not being a professional barista and - “ Shit, I’m rambling. “Anyway, I would very much like to apologize about that and offer you this free coffee,” I place the saucer on his table, pretty sure I am about to pass out, “in hopes you maybe won’t file a complaint.”

His lips quirk up and show the most picturesque dimples. This man has got to be a hallucination.

“Apology accepted. So what is it you do professionally since it’s apparently not customer service?”

“Working on my PhD in climatology. Which I suppose isn’t much of a profession either, considering I don’t get paid, but it’s at least ‘some sort of a career path,’ as my mother would say.” What am I talking about?! “So what do you do?” Smooth, Tilly, like he’s going to be interested in smalltalk.

“I’m with the university. Early modern lit. You can usually find me over on the pretentious side of campus.” He smirks at that statement and takes a sip of his coffee. I should turn around and walk back to the counter, but instead my eyes are glued to him.

“I don’t know about the lit department, but there are some decently pretentious meteorologists I can think of.”

“How are meteorologists pretentious?”

“They always think that being able to predict the weather is so very interesting and important when really in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter. I know what time of year it is, you don’t need that much more.” From the corner of my eye I see Keyla and Owo standing together behind the counter, clearly interested in what Mr. Gorgeous and I are talking about. Because I obviously needed that extra level of pressure.

“I don’t know about that. I usually like to know what the weather will be like to plan for my weekends,” he says and brings my full attention back to him.

“It depends if you’re interested in being outside.” I fidget with the towel tucked into the top of my apron. I was just going to apologize, but this is so much better. And also worse because the way he looks at me has me all flustered.

“So I take it you’re not.”

Great, now he thinks I’m a recluse, hiding away at home all the time. Not necessarily the impression I want to make. Wait, do I want to make an impression? Oh boy…

I shrug. “I burn to a crisp when I’m exposed to the sun for more than ten seconds. And then there’s that PhD.”

He nods. “Not strictly a nine to five job.”

“No,” I agree, “Sometimes it’s just easier to work on the weekends when no one else is around.”

He smiles knowingly.

“So, I know you probably hate this question, I sure did when I was working on my thesis, but what do you want to do with a PhD in climatology?”

I shrug. “Save the planet?” I offer somewhat unconvincingly and he laughs at that. The sound is just as warm and rich as I thought it would be and makes me smile.

“A worthy cause.”

“Here’s hoping it’ll all work out.” I cross my fingers. “Well, I gotta get back to work.”

I am already turning away when I hear him add, “Nice meeting you…?”

I spin back around and walking backwards in the direction of the counter, point at the little badge on my chest. “Tilly.”

The smile he shoots me is enough to help me ignore the teasing looks that await me from my nosey friends.

For the next hour we go through the motions, but I manage to sneak a glance at Mr. Gorgeous every now and then. Twice our eyes meet and I have to look away before I faint from blushing too much in one day.

When he gets up to leave, he actually returns his empty cups to the counter and then, with a last wink, he’s out the door, leaving me to face the merciless interrogation of my friends.


	2. doesn't mean anything

He’s back the next day. And the day after that. When he shows up again on the third day, I notice Keyla rolling her eyes at Owo, but I choose to ignore them.

Yes, Christopher Pike - that’s his name - has started to spend a lot of time at The Galaxy Café, but only because he needed a break from his office. “I figured, if I want to get this article done in time for the deadline, I better hide from my students,” he told me when he came in on Monday.

“Surely he would get more done in the library,” Keyla pointed out later, hell-bent on questioning his motive, as if we don’t have plenty of students coming in to work on their assignments over coffee.

Christopher and I may have chatted a bit here and there, but that doesn’t mean anything. It certainly doesn’t mean what my so-called friends are thinking. But they seem to be set on interpreting more into this than there is.

“Good morning,” he greets us - “you” Owo insists later, but she’s clearly got it wrong - and places his order.

Since there’s nobody else in line, I use the time it takes Keyla to prepare the drink to make smalltalk. “How is the article coming along?”

“Not too bad. Though I’m getting to the point where bringing a book or two with me isn’t cutting it anymore. I might have to get some actual work done in the library rather than hiding in here all day,” he explains with - what at least to me - sounds like regret.

After hearing that, it’s no surprise when he doesn’t show for a few days. What does surprise me though, is how much I miss our conversations, even if so far they have mostly been superficial chitchat.

I spend my Sunday off in my office on campus, trying to write a few pages for my thesis. It’s a frustrating process. Unable to really concentrate, I’m not getting as much done as I had hoped. Instead of finishing the chapter I’m working on, I end up rereading the same page over and over again because my thoughts wander, and I catch myself thinking about Christopher more often than I like to admit.

I’m still frustrated by my lack of progress when I get to work on Monday afternoon. I don’t have time to dwell on it though, because as soon as I enter the café, a grinning Owo says, “There she is,” in a tone that tells me that something is up.

“What?”

Keyla looks up from where she’s arranging cupcakes on a platter. “Oh, nothing.”

Again I’m faced with a smug grin. Ok, something’s definitely up.

“What’s going on?” I demand to know, hands on my hips.

Owo crosses her arms in front of her chest and leans against the counter. “That is a very good question, Tilly.”

“One we should be asking you,” Keyla adds. She has set the tray of cupcakes aside and is giving me her full attention now.

I’m confused; I have no idea what they are talking about and it must be showing on my face, because both of them start giggling.

“Ok guys, seriously! What’s going on?”

“Someone,” Owo puts some strong emphasis on the word, “came in yesterday and was really disappointed when we told him it was your day off.”

‘Who?’ I ask myself and try to ignore the obvious answer, because I don’t like the way my heartbeat quickens at the thought. I must still look confused, because Keyla finally has mercy on me.

“The old guy. Christopher,” she elaborates.

Oh…Yep, that heartbeat sure keeps increasing further, even though it really shouldn’t be doing that. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time that my friends read too much into a little bit of small talk.

“So… what’s going on between the two of you?” Keyla asks innocently.

I roll my eyes at both of them. “Nothing.”

“Who are you trying to fool? Us or yourself?”

“Look, there’s nothing going on,” I insist. “We’ve had a few conversations. That’s it.” Honestly, as if a guy like that would ever be interested in me. I shake my head and make my way to the back room.

“Keep telling yourself that, Tilly,” Owo yells after me.

Over the course of the afternoon, I catch myself looking up expectantly when the doorbell announces a new customer, only to be disappointed because it’s not him. Eventually I tell myself to stop being silly.

The post-class rush comes and goes and I have already given up hope. I am about to check the baking for tomorrow morning when I see him walking down the street, a medium sized dog happily trotting along beside him. Dog? I had no idea he had a dog….

I shouldn’t be surprised though. Why wouldn’t the stunningly handsome university professor also have an adorable dog?

He ties the leash to the bike rack and scratches the dog’s ears before stepping into the shop. And I fail hard at ignoring the smile that spreads across his face when our eyes meet.

“Hey there, Tilly,” he greets me and steps up to the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Same to you. Any success with your paper?”

He scowls. “Well, it’s at least outlined.”

“Better than nothing, right?”

Owo and Keyla move behind me, making me acutely aware of their attention.

“So, uhm, sorry, what can I get you?” I finally manage to say, remembering that he is here for some coffee.

“Uhm,” he hesitates and rubs his chin, making me suppress a sigh, “I’ll take a tall latte.”

“Coming right up.” I type the order into the register, “For here or to go?”

“To go.”

Damn it.

The disappointment must show on my face because he adds, “I don’t want to keep my dog waiting too long.” He nods his head toward the door.

“Oh! Sure.”

I start on his order, but Keyla steps up to me, taking the cup out of my hand. I shoot her a confused look.

“Go get your stuff,” she whispers to me. “We can clean up without you. Just go and walk out with him.”

I open my mouth to at least pretend to protest but she interrupts me before I can get a single word out.

“Oh please, Tilly, if you two finally take the next step, you’ll do us all a favor.”

I refrain from debating the fact that any of this leading anywhere is unlikely. After all, getting to go home early has its perks - particularly if I get to walk part of the way with Christopher. I’m not going to say no to that.

Without waiting another second, I dash into the back room, toss my apron and name-tag into my cubby, and grab my purse and jacket. I even find time to check my reflection in the mirror. Not what I’d call ‘ready to impress’, but I swipe away a bit of smudged eyeliner and feel presentable enough.

I emerge just in time to see Keyla doing something overly complicated with the foamed milk, clearly playing for time. My friends are the best.

Zipping behind the counter, I whisper my thanks as she passes the cup to me.

Christopher looks amused by the slight chaos at the shop tonight as I hand him his drink.

“You know,” I try to keep my tone as casual as possible, “I actually just finished my shift and if you want some company, I could walk a little with you. I just need to get to a BART station.”

Please say, yes, please say yes…

And he does. With a glint in his eyes and dimples showing.

I hurriedly thank Owo and Keyla again, who assure me I owe them details, and then I am leaving work alongside Christopher, so giddy I have to stop myself from bouncing.

He unties his dog, who comes over to sniff my hand, body conveying careful curiosity.

“This is Emily.”

I tentatively pat the dog’s dark fur. She seems to be okay with me.

“She’s really pretty. What breed is she?”

“A Kelpie-mix.”

We fall into an easy conversation about how his dog was staying with a friend this past week and that he likes to go running and hiking and all kinds of outdoorsy stuff. He even asks about my first name, a question I refuse to answer initially, because there’s a reason everyone just calls me Tilly. Truth be told, I’m not particularly fond of my name. I tell him in the end, but only after he promises he’ll stick to Tilly.

We continue to chat about this and that and I share my passion for music festivals. It’s nice to talk to him outside the shop, away from my friends’ curious gazes, and I am really sad when we approach that stupid station way too soon.

“I guess that’s good-bye for now…” I trail off, hoping it doesn’t have to be.

He is playing with the leash, moving it around and I catch myself being transfixed by his actions. He has incredibly nice hands, and even though I’ve noticed before, this time I can’t stop staring. They are large, tanned, and well-cared for. I wonder what they’d feel like against my skin, how he’d touch me, if he’d be rough or…

“If you would be interested, we could go for an actual walk,” he suggests quietly, stopping my train of thought.

My eyes snap up to his, and I know I am blushing.

“Although you might have to check the weather report to pick appropriate clothing,” he teases with a wink.

“I think I can make an exception.” My cheeks hurt with my massive smile.

Trying to act like it’s not the most exciting thing to happen to me in months or possibly ever, we exchange numbers, agree for him to pick me up on Friday afternoon at four, and then I am walking to the train with a silly wave, that he mirrors.

I feel like I am floating with happiness and don’t even notice for a full two stops that I got on the wrong train.

 

***

 

I leave this particular part out when I relay the details about my conversation with Christopher to my co-conspirators the next day.

“So you’re going on a date?” Kayla asks matter-of-factly once I’m done.

“No, I’m not,” I say, throwing her a look that says exactly what I think of her crazy notion. A date is dinner and a movie, not walking a dog.

“Sure you are. You have made plans. He’s picking you up. You’re going somewhere together.”

“Sounds like a date to me,” Owo chimes in.

“Seriously, guys, this isn’t a date,” I insist, but a little uncertainty creeps into my mind. Have I agreed to a date with Christopher without even realizing? Surely not.

“He’s just trying to drag me outside.” It sounds defensive, even to my own ears, so I add, “He keeps saying I can’t stay inside working, either here or at school for the next three years.”

“Sounds like he cares about you,” says Keyla, grinning widely.

I have had just about enough of their teasing, so I grab a tea towel and throw it at her.

 


	3. guest appearance

Thursday brings my busiest day at campus. Between teaching two seminars and the weekly meeting with my supervisor Professor Stamets, I’m up to my neck in preparations for the upcoming Climate Change Network Conference I’m organizing with Michael, my office-buddy and part-time life-coach as I like to call her. By the time I finally make it home, I am just absolutely beat.

I let the door fall shut behind me and drop my bag to the floor, then lose the jumper on my way to the bathroom. All I want now is a shower and some time in front of the TV, preferably with my feet up and possibly some ice cream.

Sometimes the PhD combined with the teaching and my job at Galaxy just kills me. The fact that I constantly volunteer for things like organizing postgrad conferences to improve my CV doesn’t help either. I sigh and massage my stiff shoulder, kicking the bathroom door shut.

As soon as the hot water hits my skin, I sigh. Turning around, I let my head hang forward so the warm spray hits my shoulders. This is pure bliss.

I close my eyes and try to think of nothing, to just enjoy the water on my skin, hoping if I relax a bit, getting to sleep will be nice and easy, because I would really rather not be a sleep-deprived mess for my non-date tomorrow.

My non-date that is one hundred percent not a date at all.

Clearly my brain disagrees because it instantly provides some very enticing images of Christopher, from his graying hair, to his gorgeous eyes, and that smile that makes my knees go weak. Those damn dimples will be the death of me.

I can feel heat pooling in my lower belly. It’s surreal how much just the thought of him turns me on. And I haven’t even had any naughty thoughts. Yet.

I open my eyes abruptly. Where did that come from? I mean, yeah, he’s hot and we’ve flirted a little, but I can’t do _that_ with him in mind. I need to look him in the face tomorrow and I’m not sure I would be able to after I’ve allowed myself to picture him doing all kinds of dirty things to me. I’m freaked out enough as it is by all this date talk. I don’t have to make this harder for me than it needs to be.

Knowing myself, I would turn beet red instantly, because let’s face it, there is no way my brain wouldn’t kindly remind me of this very moment, and what do I tell him if he asks why I’m blushing? ‘Sorry, thought about having sex with you.’ That wouldn’t be awkward at all. I probably wouldn’t have to say anything for him to tell what I’ve been picturing...

I rub my thighs together at the thought of his teasing voice, the look in his eyes that says he knows full well what I have been up to.

I bite my lip, still uncertain. One thing’s for sure though: I could really use some me-time. My nipples are already stiff and the moisture between my legs is more than just water. Isn’t it some scientific fact that orgasms help you relax and make for better sleep?

The truth is, I really, really want to do this. Not just for scientific reasons. Worrying my lower lip between my teeth, I consider my options. I could just have a quick shower and watch some TV to distract myself. But where would be the fun in that?

Decision made, I close my eyes and lean back against the cool tiles.

He is in the shower with me. Not my shower, because it is too small. The one I imagine is big enough for two and has a bunch of fancy settings, like in some nice spa. The water drips from the ceiling like rain, the light is dimmed, creating an intimate setting.

I touch my breasts, squeezing them gently while I picture his hands on me, caressing, teasing. He’s looming over me, one hand next to my head on the tiles, looking down with that focused expression that wrinkles his brow as he rubs my breasts, pinches my nipples. My breath speeds up, thinking about his face so close to mine, of being the sole focus of his attention.

One of my hands slides downward, over my stomach to the patch of curls. I imagine him pulling me against his chest, his cock sliding between my legs, teasing my entrance. He leans down to kiss me greedily, his tongue stroking mine, both of us groaning. His hand on my ass, he presses me close, and his erection pushes against me just right.

I gasp as I finally touch my clit, thinking about how he would pull one of my legs up to his hip, bringing us even closer together.

His mouth leaves mine to nip and lick along the side of my neck. His hands grip my butt and he pushes me up against the wall. I wrap my legs around him and cry out when he thrusts himself into me in one solid stroke.

I imagine the feeling of him inside as I push two fingers in, trying to hit the right spot, and my legs start to shake. He’d keep going faster and faster, lips and tongue and teeth against my neck and shoulder.

With one hand clutching my breast and the other moving quickly inside my swollen channel, I’m soon panting and moaning. I flick my clit a few times and cry out as I come.

“Holy shit.” I need a moment to catch my breath before I’m able to finish my shower. No matter how embarrassed I might be when I have to face him next, it was _so_ worth it.

My mind seems to agree because that night I dream of him. We’re in the shower again and the things he does with his mouth… I wake up with my hands between my thighs. I’m so turned on that going back to sleep is not an option. I wriggle out of my PJs, roll onto my back and indulge in another fantasy.

 

***

 

When my alarm goes off in the morning, I haven’t had nearly as much sleep as I should have, but I can’t seem to feel guilty about the reason for that. I may be tired, but I haven't woken up this sated in forever, even if my thighs are sticky and I end up taking another shower. I try hard to be as methodical as possible as I get ready for my day on campus, because I need to get my damn mind out of the gutter before I meet Christopher later.

Of course having time to think on the train doesn’t help at all. Despite insisting to my friends that the walk we have planned is definitely, absolutely _not_ a date, I find myself replaying my conversation with Christopher over and over, wondering if I have misread his intentions. The more I think about it, the more anxious I get. All the images of him my brain so helpfully provided in the last twelve hours only add to the problem.

I am glad that once I am on campus, I can throw myself into organizing the conference with Michael. Thank God she is so focused and calm, because it’s exactly what I need right now. Still, my preoccupation must show, because on our usual run to grab lunch, she asks me what’s wrong.

“Um… nothing. It’s just… I think I might have a date this afternoon. But I’m not sure if it really is a date. I didn’t think so until Owo and Keyla started teasing me about it and now I’m not sure and it’s driving me crazy.” I tell her about Christopher and my upcoming trip to the dog park.

As usual, she listens with her full attention on me, not interrupting the immense flow of words that keeps spilling out while we walk back to our tiny shared postgrad office, salads in our hands.

I recount the whole tale. From how often I have seen Christopher, to the bit of flirting we’ve indulged in, even admitting to getting on the wrong damn train. I do opt for leaving out the part on how much I thought about him all night...

“Do you think going for a walk counts as a date?” I finally ask, once she has the full picture.

Michael studies my face for a moment, then sighs deeply. “Are you really asking me for dating advice?”

Considering her disaster of a love life, it’s a valid question. Her most recent relationship only lasted a few months. Michael had been head over heels, but then the guy found out his ex was pregnant. He went back to her and left Michael with a broken heart. As much as I respect him for taking responsibility, I am also not willing to ever forgive him for putting my friend through all of that, but that’s a whole different matter.

I shrug in response to her question, shooting her a helpless glance.

Despite her own issues in the dating department, Michael does try to help. “Do you want it to be a date?” she asks.

I think about it for a moment, trying to figure out how I’d feel about going on an actual date with Christopher. “I don’t know.”

Truth is, as much as I enjoy the view and the conversation whenever he’s around, or the fantasies I’ve come up with, I’m not sure why a guy like him would want to date someone like me. Sure, I’ve had my share of admirers, but never someone this good-looking and - well let’s talk about the elephant in the room - that much older. He’s in a different league than the guys I usually date, on a number of levels, and if I’m honest with myself, it’s intimidating. It’s one thing to have a conversation with my friends about theoretically hooking up with him, but a whole different one to actually do it. Not to mention that there’s a huge difference between a steamy one night stand and an actual date.

“I know I’d like to climb him like a tree,” I admit, leaning back in my office chair with a theatrical groan. “Why does this have to be so complicated?”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “From a biological point of view it’s actually quite simple, but I doubt you are looking for a lecture on sexual selection.” 

“Nooo, we’re not going there.” I really don’t want to analyze why my hormones get the better of me when I think of Christopher, especially not when I’m about to meet him in a few hours.

Michael puts a fresh cup of coffee in front of me. “Whatever his intentions are, I am sure you will know soon enough. Until then maybe you can just enjoy the moment and not worry too much about what the future holds.”

I sigh and take a sip. Of course she’s right, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s easier said than done. Still, I resolve to at least try to stop driving myself nuts, because Michael has a point. If Christopher wanted to date me, he would probably just say so.

“Thanks, Michael.”

We dive back into work for a bit, and I do my best to focus, but it is just not happening. By one pm, Michael has probably had enough of my restlessness, so she suggests that we wrap it up for today, and I gratefully pack my bag, thanking her for the approximately fiftieth time for all her patience.

 


	4. this might be a date

After hurrying back home, I find myself rummaging through my closet for what feels like hours. This has to be the most ridiculous amount of time anyone has ever spent on an outfit to visit a dog park. Once I’ve made my decision, I look myself over one last time.

The leggings are clean, so that’s a plus, and not see-through. Always good. They also manage to tighten everything up a bit, although nothing can ever conceal the width of my hips and size of my butt. They still look like activewear, portraying that I am not quite as unathletic as Christopher probably thinks I am. Not that it should matter what he thinks.

Yeah, right. And that’s why it took me an hour to figure out what to do with the unruly ginger mess that is my hair - a fact that I might confess to Michael, but not to Keyla and Owo. I can live without being teased about this not-date until my dying day, thank you very much. For now, I've contained my curls in a high ponytail and I hope that that’s where they will stay. Considering that even on a good day they seem to have a mind of their own, that’s not guaranteed.

I have donned the SPF100 and made sure to show a bit more cleavage than I do when I actually work out. The push-up bra wouldn't do me any good for actual exercise, but it does make my boobs look quite impressive.

If I intentionally show off my, well… biggest assets… does this mean it is a date after all? Judging by the amount of time it took me to get ready, this definitely could qualify as a date, but thinking about ifs and whens gives me anxiety, so I push these thoughts firmly aside. Until proven otherwise, I will approach this as a meeting between friends and I am certainly going to shove the memories of last night as far away as possible.

Before I can give in and call Michael, to subject her to more of my nervous rambling, my phone vibrates. I actually jump. It’s Christopher, letting me know he’s outside.

Nobody should be this anxious to spend time with a friend. I really need to calm the fuck down, so I take a deep breath, grab my backpack and step outside.

I have never given any thought to what kind of car he drives, but now that I am confronted with reality, I know I definitely didn’t picture a Volvo station wagon. I suppose it’s good to know his midlife crisis hasn’t set in yet.

I get in, heart hammering, and it really doesn’t help that he’s in shorts and a t-shirt, complete with a dark-blue trucker hat, exuding a boyish charm I was entirely unprepared for.

“Ready to go?” he asks, and my very enthusiastic response of “Yep, super ready!” may be the reason a big smile appears on his face.

In the backseat, Emily is whining excitedly, kept from saying hi by the harness attaching her to the seat. I turn around and scratch her ears and then buckle up as Christopher pulls into the street.

It’s not a far drive, but I can’t pay attention to where we are going, not while Christopher inquires about how the rest of my week went. We fall into an easy exchange about the usual campus life ranging from trying to find funding to students handing homework in late.

By the time we pull into the dusty parking lot, my pulse has normalized and I can actually appreciate the gorgeous California landscape, complete with glittering ocean on the horizon.

Emily is bouncing with excitement when we get out of the car and as soon as we enter the grounds of the dog park, Christopher removes the leash and starts throwing a ball for her. She tirelessly runs back and forth, while we walk along the path, chatting and laughing. I can’t remember a date ever feeling so… easy. We’re just two people talking, and I am pretty sure the fact that all of this feels so natural must mean it can’t possibly be a date.

At some point Emily stops returning the now slobbery toy to her owner, dropping it in front of me instead, clearly wanting me to throw it. Christopher just laughs.

“Looks like my dog likes you, too,” he says casually and I feel my heart miss a beat.

Is that his way of saying he likes me? If so, are we talking ‘like’ in the sense of ‘You’re nice. I want to be your friend’ or as in ‘I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you three ways to Sunday’? And just like that I’m doubting my assessment of the date situation again.

Not sure what to make of his comment, I shrug and bend down to pick up the ball. “Looks like your dog has good taste,” I respond with more confidence than I feel as I throw the ball and watch Emily run after it.

“That she does.”

I turn my head to look at him, hoping to find a clue in his expression, but he’s watching the dog, who’s bouncing ahead.

When Emily returns, ball in mouth, I kneel down next to her and fuss over her, scratching behind her ears and down her neck. It gives me an opportunity to think.

By the time I get back up, I’ve decided I’m reading too much into this and resume my carefree conversation with Christopher.

We continue to follow the path, talking about this and that when he suddenly says “You know, my friends call me Chris.”

It’s so out of the blue that it takes me a moment to realize what he’s implying. Apparently we are officially friends now. “Chris,” I say, testing the name, the casual familiarity sending a flutter through my stomach that really shouldn’t be there considering that I’m still not sure if we are just friends or if he wants more.

No matter what his intentions are, it doesn’t mean I can’t steal glances at his exposed arms and legs, trying hard not to get hypnotized by the play of his muscles as he moves. Once or twice I think he might have caught me, judging by his expression, but I can’t be sure. When the path narrows, I don’t mind him walking ahead, unabashedly using the chance to ogle his spectacular behind.

Obviously, being me, I trip, falling into the dirt with a startled “Ah!”

Great. I am sprawled on the ground, full body-contact up to my chest. If the earth could please open up and swallow me right now, that would be great.

“Oh shit! Everything okay?” Chris asks, concern in his voice.

I push myself up onto my knees.

“Yeah, I think it’s fine.” Damn it. This is so not how I wanted this day to go...

Chris offers me a hand and I reach out, allowing him to pull me to my feet. Because he’s slightly further uphill, he seems even taller, and date or no date, I am acutely aware of my hand in his, the first time we’ve ever really touched for more than a split-second, and despite my humiliation, I don’t want to let go. We’re standing still, so close I can sense his body heat and see the grey specks in his eyes.

I must be hallucinating because it feels as if his thumb is caressing my hand, just the lightest movement back and forth. I am so startled, I look down, and of course that’s what breaks the spell, making him let go of me.

He clears his throat and his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Still no pain?”

I look down and cringe. My entire front is covered in fine grey sand. I start wiping at it, patting my body from my shins up, doing my best to stop looking like an idiot.

“Everything’s okay,” I assure him, furiously slapping the dirt from my thighs. “I think it’s just my pride that’s hurt, so nothing serious.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I just keep going, moving up to my shirt, doing my best to get the dust off my boobs. I manage to reduce it to a grey hue and accepting that’s as good as it’ll get, I look up, expecting to find him a few yards ahead of me.

Instead, what I find is Christopher Pike, still in the exact same spot, without doubt staring at my cleavage. I suddenly notice the vee of my shirt is even lower after my cleaning attempts.

Holy shit. What am I supposed to do?

There has got to be a perfect flirty line, but my brain comes up empty while all my blood rushes down between my legs at the realization that the most attractive guy I know is so obviously interested in my chest. I guess that rules out wanting to be just friends.

And then he looks up and I expect him to blush, to apologize, to maybe be embarrassed, but there is none of that. Instead, he confidently holds my gaze. I don’t think I have ever been so turned on. I resist the urge to look down to see if my arousal is plain to see for everyone, especially handsome men checking out my cleavage.

“Ready to keep going?”

“What?” I ask, not sure what he’s talking about.

He grins and raises an eyebrow. Seriously, this isn’t fair. How are you supposed to think straight if this guy is flirting with you?

“Up the hill. I promised you a sight, remember?”

Oh right. Dog park, hill, sight. I’m back on track.

“Sure. Lead the way.”

***

The rest of our walk is less eventful – by which I mean I’m not making a fool of myself again. And while I’m generally not a fan of walking up hills, I have to admit that the sight was indeed spectacular. So was spending the afternoon in Chris’s company.

When we pull up in front of my door, I’m a little sad that it’s over. I try not to let it show though. Wouldn’t want to give him the wrong impression, or any impression at all, because I’m still confused about what’s going on between us.

“Thanks. I had a great time,” I say with a smile.

“So did I,” he responds, then looks away for a second before turning back to me. “You’re welcome to join us any time you like.”

“Guess I’ll have to check the weather forecast more often from now on.” I unfasten the seat belt and lean towards the back, to scratch Emily’s neck. “Goodbye, Emily.”

I have already opened the door and am about to step out of the car when his voice stops me. “I’m out of town for a few days, but I was wondering if maybe you would like to have dinner with me once I’m back.”

Holy shit! Dinner is definitely a date. There’s no denying it. I’m being asked out on a date by Christopher Pike! Gorgeous, charming, sexy Christopher Pike. Part of me wants to flail and squee at this development. Obviously I can’t do that in front of him. Ok, Tilly, play it cool.

“Sure, that would be nice.”

He seems genuinely happy and maybe even a little relieved. “Great. I’ll call you when I’m back.”

“Ok. See you soon.”

“Bye, Tilly.”

I manage to make it into the house and wait until the door is closed before I start jumping up and down, while squeeing like a crazy person. I officially have a date with Chris. And I happily ignore that we haven’t set a date yet.

 


	5. On my Mind

I hate to admit how antsy I am for this week to be over. Yes, maybe it’s stupid to put that much focus on when Chris will be back in town, but it’s been even harder to concentrate ever since our trip to the dog park.

I have really tried to stay calm, to just wait and see where things go, but that’s pretty difficult when the sight of him so blatantly staring at my chest has burned itself permanently into my skull _and_ he has asked me out to dinner. A small part of me keeps nagging that we haven't talked about the _when_ of it, not to mention that I haven’t heard from him since he dropped me off at home, but still, at this point I can almost believe that he might be interested in me.

Over the course of my usual busy Thursday, I realize that the chances of ignoring my constant preoccupation are slim to none. I keep thinking of him, despite the classes and discussions and need to focus on what I am here to do. But it seems like my brain is more interested in fantasy porn than writing this damn PhD, and Chris and I are the lead actors. One moment I’m reading an article in the latest issue of _The International Journal of Climatology_ and the next I imagine Christopher Pike bending me over my desk.

I do my best to get my work done, despite the random flashes of Chris and me in positions worthy of the Kamasutra. Clearly there is a lot of creativity my brain is capable of when I’m supposed to be focusing on climate change and the measurement of aerosols. 

I keep this latest development from Owo and Keyla, and even Michael. There’s not much I don’t talk about with them, but my overactive fantasy life seems a bit too personal. They are already teasing me about going on a date with a guy who’s probably nearly twice my age. I don’t need to give them additional ammunition.

By the time I get to leave, I’m practically bursting thanks to said overactive imagination. I can’t wait to get home. It may just be the state I’m in, but the train seems to be providing extra vibrations today and I end up standing near the doors, ready to get out as soon as we arrive at my stop.

When I push the front door shut behind me, I head straight to the bedroom - not for the first time this week. God bless living on my own so I can start tossing aside my clothes before I flop onto my bed.

My panties are already soaked when I push them down and kick them off. I don’t think I have ever been this turned on from daydreaming about someone. It’s all his fault with his charm and blue eyes and shapely butt and muscular arms and downright erotic smile. Damn that smile. Damn the entire man for being sex on legs. But at least now I’m finally able to do something about the constant tingling in my lower abdomen that has been tormenting me all day.

I close my eyes. One of my hands is sprawled over my naked belly, a finger of the other is lazyly circling a semi stiff nipple. It doesn’t need much prompting for my lust-fogged mind to come up with a new fantasy.

I think of Chris’ office, imagining a room full of books. They are on shelves covering every wall and piled on his desk. Taking some creative licence, I picture furniture made of dark and expensive wood, maybe some tall windows with curtains. I can see him sitting at his large desk in front of his computer, frowning at the screen while he reads.

It’s an expression he often has when he concentrates on something, as I’ve witnessed when he brought his work to the café. For some reason it makes me want to kiss the wrinkles off his forehead and, God, what I would give to be able to do that right now. Instead, I pinch my hard nipple with my thumb and index finger and pull on it gently.

Chris looks up when I enter the room and that sexy frown is replaced by an even sexier smile that shows off his dimples. “What are you doing here, Tilly?”

My fantasy self walks over to him with swaying hips. “You work too hard, Chris. I’m here to help you relax.”

That sounds like the beginning of a bad porno and I giggle at the thought. Maybe there’s a future career path in writing bad porn if this whole PhD thing doesn’t work out.

My hand trails from my belly to my thigh and back up, mimicking the path his lips would take, running a trail of kisses all over my heated body. I sigh at the thought and focus on my fantasy again.

Chris swivels around in his chair to face me when I step behind the desk. I move between his spread legs and as soon as I do, his hands are on me. He runs them up the back of my thighs, under my skirt all the way to my bare ass. At this discovery, he looks up at me with a mischievous smirk. “No underwear? Naughty girl.”

With a matching smile, I lean forward and kiss him passionately. One of my hands at the nape of his neck, the other on his broad chest for balance, I straddle him. He’s already hard inside his pants and I start teasing my clit as I think about grinding against him, his bulge rubbing against the little bundle of nerves rather than my fingers.

He grabs my ass and pulls me closer, thrusting up against me, while his tongue invades my mouth.

A noise between a sigh and a moan leaves my lips. I palm my breast, imagine his hand instead of mine, kneading the soft flesh, before twisting the nipple and moving to the other side to repeat the motion. At the same time, my fingers move from my clit to my cunt and back, teasing until I feel the need for more.

I lean over the edge of the bed and dig out my vibrator from the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Sometimes you just need a bit of assistance. I slide the humming toy over my swollen folds, my mind already back in the opulent office where we have both managed to get rid of our clothes, conveniently skipping over the logistics in my fantasy.

“So wet already,” he hums and I rub along his shaft, teasing him until he digs his fingers into my hips and I am sinking down on his cock. We both groan and pant, rocking against each other on the chair and I move the dildo back and forth, dragging the head in and out of my overstimulated cunt.

But it’s just not enough. As nice as it is to ride him, to imagine his teeth sinking into my nipple, his hands guiding my hips, it’s all too sweet, too slow. So I find myself spread on his desk, with Chris between my thighs.

He’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, highlighting his defined body. His fist is wrapped around his cock and with one thumb on my clit, he slides the tip of is shaft in and out of me, letting me spiral higher and higher until I am thrashing, hips moving up, and I beg him for more, to please fuck me because I need him inside.

And oh yes, does this man deliver. He pushes into me, a firm grip on my hips, pumping faster and faster, the vibrations moving from my cunt through my body, out to every limb. He is losing control, so close to coming, and he’s fucking me hard and fast, exactly the way I need. My orgasm hits me in long, glorious waves, my entire body twitching while I see his face distort in pleasure.

Coming back down to earth takes a moment. I am out of breath, sweaty, and even though I just came, I start thinking about what it would be like to actually have sex with Chris as soon as I’m coherent enough. It doesn’t help that my vibrator is still happily buzzing away inside me.

I’ve always liked sex, but ever since Chris made his way into my fantasies I feel downright insatiable. Still high on endorphins I entertain the thought that maybe he wouldn’t be opposed to help me live out some of those fantasies that leave me in constant need of cold showers or an orgasm, if not two. The thought is exciting and a little frightening at the same time. I know I told Michael that I want to climb him like a tree, and I really do want to scratch that itch, but is that really all I want? If anything, my walk with Chris has left me even more confused than I was before and I’m still not sure what he wants. Or am I?

I throw an arm over my face and groan. Stop thinking, Tilly! I just need to stick to Michael’s suggestion and stop worrying. I’ll just enjoy whatever happens - if anything happens at all. We might not even get there. It takes two to tango after all, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t try to tempt him to _dance_ with me, right?

Between the thought of seducing Chris and the toy inside me, I soon feel hot and bothered again. Guess it’s time for round two. Sometimes being a woman is fucking awesome.


	6. Confessions

It may only be midnight, but I think I’m drunk. What can I say? It’s Friday, and I’m young and in college and have friends and they have beer. Pretty sure there’s a hangover in my future. Worth it.

Keyla pats me on the back as I grab my coat, making me promise to text her when I’m home safe and sound. Like I’m not going to make it one block down the road.

I roll my eyes and step out the door only to notice that these steps are not as straight as they should be. Nope. Definitely not. Could also be my legs. What the hell was in that last beer? Probably beer. I think.

Focus, Tilly. It’s one block. You can do this.

I better start looking for those keys. I swear they are somewhere in this damn bag. Stupid stuff always in the way. I swear I put them right next to the - ooomph!

I collide with something solid and am almost knocked to my ass. Some stupid freshman must be too drunk to walk and I’m going to-

“Oh shit,” is all I can mutter when I look up at the gorgeous, yet frowning face of Christopher Pike.

His hand is holding me at the elbow and the world spins a little. Maybe he’s also just _that_ gorgeous.

He’s so pretty, he makes my world spin. I giggle at that.

“Tilly! Are you okay?” he asks and - no, Sir, I am _not_ okay because you're holding me upright and you're so close and I’ve been getting myself off to fantasies of you and…

“Oh, yes, fine. Sorry, I wasn't looking,” I manage to string together. No swooning, Tilly, get your shit together. Well maybe a little swooning. Because I've really missed him and haven't had a chance to do any real-life swooning in so long...

“Wait.” I poke his chest. His very firm chest, that I would very much like to lick. Focus, Tilly.

“You are out of town. You are at that...thing.”

He laughs and fucking hell, his laugh is the best damn sound I have ever heard.

“The _thing_ ended yesterday, just like it was supposed to.”

Is it too soon to ask why he didn't call me immediately to set up that date he promised me? Because if there's a chance we could be having hot post-date sex right now, I'll be upset.

“So,” I start, and it's not fair that I have to come up with something to say when I'm drunk.

He lets go of me and I sway. Oh shit.

Instantly both of his hands are on me again, holding my upper arms and there’s real concern in his eyes. Back to our regularly scheduled secret swooning.

“Has anyone ever told you that your face is perfect?” Well, guess the swooning is not so secret after all.

He chuckles. “Not that I can recall. Now how about we get you home?”

Oh my. Aren’t we straightforward. I link my arm through his, leaning my face against his very strong, nicely defined upper arm.

“Oh wow. You are so… firm. Must be all that running and climbing.”

His hand covers mine, keeping me steady at his side and the smile doesn’t leave his lips. Such kissable lips.

“Come on, I’m going to take you home.”

God, he smells good.

“You smell really good.” I bury my nose in his sleeve. Waking up in his sheets must be an out-of-body experience. I bet it's even better after riding him all night.

“Tilly?” His hand cups my face, tilts my chin until I am looking at him. His face is all serious. Oh no. I miss the sexy smile.

“Yes?” is all I can manage to say.

“I’m taking you home. Alright?”

“Oh you want to come home with me, do you now?”

His thumb is just below my lip, still holding my chin. I wonder how he’d react if I sucked his finger into my mouth, demonstrate a few of my skills. No way we wouldn’t have a great time in bed. Oh right, bed. My bed.

“Okay.” Damn, where did that raspiness in my voice come from?

“Okay, down the block it is.” He begins to walk and I do my best to keep control over my feet. They’re not being very cooperative.

“I had a dream about you the other night.” Yup, any filter is gone for sure. Fucking hell.

“Did you now?” He asks in an amused tone.

Well, I mean I guess he wants to know, so I should tell him. It’s nice to tell people nice things about them. It is, right? Even if maybe it wasn’t just a dream?

“You were a lot less dressed though. Really, you weren’t dressed at all.” I am suddenly very aware of his hand covering my fingers on his arm, him holding me close, and he hasn’t run yet, so while I’m at it… “I mean it makes sense you weren’t dressed because you were in the shower.”

“You dream about me in the shower?”

I glance up and there’s a glint in his eyes, his lips back to that sexy smirk. And the rest just begins to tumble out.

“I’m not sure which shower it was but it was very nice. Lots of space. Definitely enough for two people, which was good considering we were both in it.” Hey look, guess all the blood flow to my face still works.

“So I assume you weren’t dressed either?” He asks, and I am pretty sure his voice is a little lower than it was a few seconds ago. Guess he’s interested. Good thing I have enough stories to tell him.

“I am never dressed in the shower. There was this one time, when my friend Airiam - wait, nevermind.”

He chuckles and I wouldn’t mind hearing that more often. Oh no, I can already see the steps to my house. Why do I live so close to Owo again? Better make sure I share the important parts before we’re there.

“So we were both in the shower. Together.” I look up at him, my heart is suddenly hammering loudly in my chest. “You were on your knees in front of me doing something really amazing with your tongue.”

“Really?” He looks rather smug.

I nod and regret it straight away as the world starts getting a little fuzzy. “Yeah,” I say when my eyes focus on his face again, “You had some serious skills.”

Am I imagining it or did he just look at me as if he wants to press me against the next available level surface? I hope he does, because I really wouldn’t mind.

Instead, he clears his throat and looks ahead. “I should probably stop you from saying anything else.”

“Why?” I’m confused. He seemed interested a moment ago. I stop, forcing him to do the same.

Chris sighs, then turns to look at me. “Because you are drunk and you might regret this conversation when you’re sober.” He almost looks disappointed.

“Oh… I probably wouldn’t say any of this if I weren’t drunk,” I think out loud.

He laughs.“My point exactly.”

We walk for a few more steps.

“Oh shit,” I blurt out when I see the door to my right. I can't believe how fast we got here.

“Are you going to be okay from here on?” He asks me, and it’s really hard to look for your keys when someone this attractive is all concerned and caring and so close and just…

I feel dizzy. But his hands are nice and warm on my waist. My waist? How did that happen? It feels damn good though.

“Do you want to come upstairs? Because I think I’d like you to come upstairs,” I hiccup, “I mean if you’d also like to….” Oh God, did I just say that?

He is looming over me, his face half in shadow and I bite my lip, pretty sure he can see my pulse, because I feel the thump of my heart across my skin, the moisture pooling between my thighs. He leans forward, his thumbs are sliding up under my shirt and I am going to combust, there is no way I won’t.

My lips part, my breath catches and my eyes fall shut, waiting for the touch of his lips on mine - to no avail.

Instead, his lips brush against my ear. “Ask me again another time, when you’re not drunk. Til then, sweet dreams, Tilly.” His husky low voice does things to me that simply aren’t fair.

Making the most of his nearness, I inhale deeply, catching his scent one last time. The sound that escapes me is somewhere between a strangled sigh and a whimper. Sweet dreams indeed. They are almost a given at this point.

I open my eyes when I feel him retreating and pout up at him. “Not even a kiss?”

His smile makes my knees go weak - well, weaker than they already were. “I’ll save that for a moment you will be able to remember, because when I kiss you, it will be worth remembering.”

I’m disappointed that he won’t even take advantage of me a little bit.

Still smiling, he takes a few steps back. “Good night, Tilly.”

“Night, Chris.” I reply and watch as he turns and leaves.

Walking up the stairs, I replay his words. He didn't say “if I kiss you”, but “when”. And that promise makes me grin like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos. They make our day and keep us going even when instead of cooperating the characters are stubbornly doing their own thing and we’re _this_ close to throwing the laptop against the wall.
> 
> This might be the end of the first part, but Chris' and Tilly's story is far from over.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [Klugtiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klugtiger/pseuds/Klugtiger) for the thorough betaing!


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